


I'll Come A-Knocking

by starprise_entership



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Garak is very done in this one, M/M, drunk flirty antics, takes place mid season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/starprise_entership
Summary: Bashir pays Garak a visit in the middle of the night.





	I'll Come A-Knocking

_ For the love of Cardassia! _ Garak inwardly groans as he shifts on the sofa, PADD in hand. The pounding on the door continues, and Garak wonders, with a heavy sigh, who could’ve come knocking on his door at this unholy hour of the night.

 

“Who is it?” Garak yells, still not looking up from his PADD.

 

“Your  _ good  _ friend,” the person on the other side starts, lazily enunciating each word, “Doctor Bashir!”

 

“And you’ve come looking for me at oh-three-hundred hours?” Garak raises his voice. “I’d honestly thought you’d be asleep by now.”

 

“Oh,  _ do  _ please let me in.” Bashir continues. “Are you decent?”

 

“Come again?” 

 

Garak hears a slight shuffling of feet upon the corridor carpet, and then a dull thud as the toe of Bashir’s shoe bumps against the wall.

 

“You sound terribly drunk, Doctor.”

 

“I was just asking,” Bashir reiterates, almost warbling, “ _ –are you decent? _ ”

 

“Morally, no, I’ve never been,” Garak shoots off, smugly pleased with himself, “but if you meant if I had any pants on, the answer is yes.” He rolls off the sofa and walks to the door to key in the authorisation code into the keypad.

 

Bashir tumbles in past the door when it slides open, headfirst.

 

“You are very drunk indeed,” Garak strains, with great difficulty, to hold Bashir just a foot above the floor. “Let’s get you to sit down, shall we?”

 

“ _ Mm. _ ” Bashir gives a small hum, and tries to steady himself on shaky legs. Slinging a long, lanky arm over Garak’s shoulder, he looks more pleased with himself than ever. “I’m glad you still have your pants on. That gives me - _ hic! _ \- the opportunity to charm you out of them. Isn’t that right, my dear Mister Garak?” 

 

Garak resists the urge to shake his head in disgust. “I’m afraid that’s not very appropriate now, Doctor. Not when you’re not in full control of your inhibitions–“

 

“I am  _ in control _ , thank you very much,” claims Bashir. “I want you, and nothing else.”

 

“What you want might not be what you need,” counters Garak, depositing Bashir on the sofa. Bashir slumps against him, clinging onto his arm in the way a koala snuggles up against a branch. “What you need now is  _ sleep _ .”

 

“You can have me, and  _ then  _ we’ll sleep.”

 

“Absolutely not.” Garak turns around and grasps Bashir firmly by the shoulders. “You’re not capable of making that decision.”

 

The stinging, pungent smell of alcohol is heavy on Bashir’s breath. Garak watches as his eyes dart in and out of consciousness, his head limply swaying.

 

_ Guls, you’re really drunk. _

 

_ “ _ Just one.” Bashir speaks up again, practically almost crawling onto Garak. “Just one kiss, then, I promise, and I’ll be sated.”

 

_ Oh, Doctor, what’s gotten into you? _

 

_ “ _ Just one, you promised.” Garak warns. “And then you’ll have to go to sleep.”

 

Eagerly, Bashir dips his head and kisses Garak full on the lips, clumsily shoving his tongue into Garak’s mouth, kissing him fervently. It would be wrong for Garak to enjoy this, yes, and even more so when Bashir shifts his weight to roll on top of him. 

 

“No, this has to stop,” protests Garak, pushing Julian away just slightly enough to break the kiss. “This is going way too far.”

 

“I did just promise one, I suppose,” sways Bashir, his eyelids drooping. “I think it’s time for bed.”

 

With that, Bashir collapses limply on top of Garak, fast asleep.

 

Garak wrinkles his nose in an air of annoyance to the sound of Bashir’s snoring. Bashir’s head hangs just off Garak’s shoulder, and in his peripheral vision he senses it bob up and down to the rhythm of his breathing. Bashir’s weight feels snug, almost comfortable on him, except for the slight hardness pressing into his thigh. Peering down along the side of his body, Garak confirms the suspicion he’s had.

 

“Well, well.” Careful not to wake Bashir, Garak slips out from underneath him and rolls Bashir over. “That was certainly something.”

 

Funnily enough, he can’t taste the whisky Bashir’s just had.

 

He unzips the front of Bashir’s uniform jacket, and then draws down the zipper of his undershirt to just below his collarbone. Bashir’s breathing eases, and then Garak notices something else a bit off. Frowning, he peers closer as he runs the pads of his fingertips lightly across Bashir’s collarbone.

 

“Not the single bit of moistness. Not a single bit of sweat. This shouldn’t be possible given the temperature of my quarters. Coupled with the drinking and intense physicality,” Garak muses, whispering lowly to himself. Standing, he backs away from the sofa as he stretches his legs. 

 

_ Well, he better have an explanation for me about this tomorrow, or I might just go straight to Odo. _

 

_ Something’s just terribly, horribly off with our dear Doctor tonight. _


End file.
